If I Could Rewind
by jaedyn tyler
Summary: Harry's dead, and everyone's left to deal with the aftermath. Mention of established RW/HG and DM/HP. Songfic.


A/N- not much in the way of notes on this. Just a request to please read the ending passage, even though it's technically not part of the fic. Also the chorus

_If I could rewind, watch all my life  
Just pass me by, I could see You_

_If I could rewind, I'd take back the lies  
And all of those times I hurt You_

is supposed to be one verse, but the formatting on it went wonky, for which I appologize. That's everything. Oh, and reviews are nice.

**Disclaimer-** This all belongs to J.K. Rowling. I'm just playing on her playground.

**qpqpqpqpqp**

_It seems just like yesterday was the first time that I heard You call my name  
Since then, so much has changed  
I'm still the same man that I was before_

_Knowing that I can be without anything scares me away from being alone  
Now, that I know what's going on  
I can look back and see You  
And I made You wait, as I turned away_

I still remember the first time we met. I was so excited; the Boy Who Lived was actually talking to _me_, Ronald Weasley. It took me a while before I realized that there was no Boy Who Lived, there was just Harry. Just another person, excited at the thought of learning magic, overwhelmed by the castle, the students, the teachers- _everything_. It still sometimes strikes me at odd moments, the realization that I'm best friends with the savior of the wizarding world. That I've fought by his side, been a shoulder when he needed someone to lean on, played pranks and goofed off together- been friends. Best friends. And that's why it hurts all the more.

Why didn't he tell me? He had to have known I would have been there for him, helped him with anything, especially things too big for him to handle on his own. He had to have known…didn't he? Why didn't he tell me? Or did he try, but I just didn't listen, didn't hear him crying out for help? I guess I'll never know now.

Even if he did try to tell me…especially if he tried…I can see how I might not have heard him. The war was rough. Downright terrifying, if I'm honest with myself. Fighting all those battles, never knowing who was going to come back alive- if _you_ were going to come back alive. I was scared, and so I turned to Hermione for comfort. I was terrified of dying alone, terrified of being alone and I found comfort in her arms. That relationship became the most important thing in my life and I pulled away from Harry. Hermione had a real chance of living through the war. I can admit it now, but I didn't know if Harry was going to make it. I mean, he was number one on Voldemort's hit list. How could he survive that? He'd already cheated death how many times? His luck had to run out sometime. Looking back, I think I thought he wouldn't make it, that I was going to lose my best friend, so I pulled away so it would hurt less if he died. I wonder if it would have made a difference, if I had acted differently; if I hadn't pulled away. Would he still be alive? Would he have been able to handle what eventually drowned him?

I'm still having a hard time accepting that he's dead. I keep waiting for him to walk around the corner, telling everyone it was just some sick joke or a horrible misunderstanding. But I know he won't. He's dead- went home one day, locked the door and warded it with the strongest spells he knew so no one could mess things up, then slit his wrists. Hermione sounded the alarm the next morning when she found the wards, but by then there was nothing we could do. Harry Potter, the Savior of the Wizarding World…my best friend…was dead.

And now there's nothing I can do but look back and wonder if he would still be alive if I hadn't made him wait. If I hadn't walked away.

_If I could rewind, watch all my life  
Just pass me by, I could see You_

_If I could rewind, I'd take back the lies  
And all of those times I hurt You_

I admit it's a shock. Harry Potter committed suicide. It's been a week; the memorial service is starting in an hour. It's going to be a nightmare of epic proportions with the media and adoring masses ruining what should be the first step in grieving for the people closest to him. I feel sorry for Ron, Hermione, the Weasleys, Professor Lupin, Sirius Black…everyone that was close to him. Though I knew him, we were never really close. He was part of the Golden Trio and I, Neville Longbottom, was the Gryffindor klutz. But he was kind to me, especially when he started teaching the DA. I learned more from him in that one year than in the first five years I was at Hogwarts combined.

Looking back on our time together at Hogwarts and when we worked together during the war I can see what I should have noticed but didn't. After all, personal experience in depression and longing for death tends to make spotting the same in others rather easy. But I bought into his mask, the façade he created to hide his pain from the world. I could kick myself for that naiveté. But now it's too little, too late and the one person I thought had the perfect life is dead.

I wonder, in my more despairing moments, if anyone would attend my funeral. Other than my Gran, that is. But even when I don't want to, I know the answer to that. Ron and Hermione, Harry if he were still alive, Seamus, and Dean would all be upset if I committed suicide. We may not all be best friends, but we are friends and, as Harry's death has hurt me, so my death would hurt them. And, especially after experiencing what those left behind after a person suicides go through, I refuse to do that to anyone. That thought, and remembering my parents' sacrifice, has been all that's stood between me and death on more than one occasion.

And now it's time for the service and I'm determined to do my best for the people that loved Harry more than I. Yes I'm hurting too, but they need someone to be strong for them while their lives are falling apart, and I'll be darned if I'm going to let that position go unfilled. But looking at their tears and grief-stricken faces, I can't help but wonder if things would be different if I'd only bothered to look deeper than the surface. Not doing so will forever be my greatest mistake. 

_I don't know if I'll ever know exactly how much that I hurt You  
Knowing that hurts me everyday  
If I could rewind, I would take it away  
And not make You wait, and I won't walk away_

I stand in the back of the Great Hall, doing my best to blend in with the crowd. No one would understand why I, Draco Malfoy, was attending Harry Potter's memorial service. Wouldn't they all be surprised to learn that Harry and I were dating- have been for three years now. Wouldn't Weasley and Granger be shocked to find out that their best friend and his most hated rival, both at school and when we worked together for the Order, haven't hated each other since sixth year? That by graduation we were best friends, and a year after that we were dating? I don't think they'd believe me. As far as they knew, we still didn't like each other. Sure we "learned to be civil" while working together for the Order, but we kept up the façade of disliking each other, for a lot of reasons.

The first, and one we both agreed on, was that if it got out that Harry and I were lovers I would become even more of a target than I already was for defying the Dark Lord and refusing to be Marked. And that couldn't happen because through me they had a direct route to Harry, and I refused to let that happen. I also understood his desire to keep _something_ in his life private from the rest of the world. Keep at least _one_ thing safe from the vultures that were always circling, looking for any scrap of him they could get their vicious claws into and use to tear him to shreds. That I understood, especially after the war- he thought the media attention for being the Boy Who Lived was bad; it was nothing compared to the field day the press and the wizarding world in general were having with his life after he saved everyone from Voldemort. What I didn't understand was his insistence that we keep it secret from our closest friends and family once the war was over. I loved him, was proud to be able to call him "mine", to know that, by some insanity of his that I will be forever grateful for, he loved me.

So no, I didn't understand why he still wanted to keep things secret, and that hurt. I asked him if he was ashamed of me, he said no; was he afraid of his friends' reactions, again no; was he afraid of one of them letting slip to the rest of the world the relationship he wanted to keep protected, still no. So I asked him to explain it to me. He never could. Said he didn't have the words to express to me his reasons why. This wasn't a good enough answer for me, so we fought about it a lot.

Standing here, listening to his friends and family reminisce, I can't help but wonder what I did wrong, where I messed up badly enough that he thought death was better than living. I can think of a lot of things, not the least of which is that I'm still a bastard- working for the Light side in the war in no way meant that I suddenly became a goody-goody Gryffindor, friends with everyone and their dog, or worse, a Hufflepuff. I'm a Slytherin, cold towards those I do not consider friend or family, willing to take advantage of a situation if it helps my goals, and I _vastly_ prefer a well thought out, subtle plan of action to the Gryffindor tendency to walk boldly into any situation without any planning at all and just "play things by ear". The very thought makes me shudder. So no, I am not generally considered a nice person and, though he tolerated it at some times, despised it at others, and, on a few occasions, even valued it, Harry accepted that side of me and I loved him all the more for it.

I also admit that I didn't handle his depression well. Though everyone else was blind, deaf, and dumb to it, the trauma Harry suffered from the war, the fact that he had to murder someone- even if it was the Dark Lord- and his guilt over the hundreds, if not thousands, of deaths that he could not have prevented but still blamed himself for, were tearing him to shreds. The number of nights he cried himself to sleep in my arms…I know now that I should have forced him into counseling. I suggested it on more than one occasion, and was quite forceful in those suggestions, but I could never convince him to go. How I wish with every fiber of my being that I had just said screw it and dragged him, kicking and screaming if I had to, to get professional help. But I thought I could handle it, that I could be enough for him. I will be forever angry at myself for this.

And I will _never_ forgive myself for the night he died. I may not have been the sole reason he took his own life, but I was the "straw that broke the camel's back", as the muggle saying goes.

We were fighting about coming out to our friends and family yet again, and I'd finally had it. So I gave him an ultimatum. If he wasn't willing to tell people about me, then as best I could tell that meant he was ashamed of me and I will not date someone who's ashamed of me. So that was it, either tell our closest friends and family, or I was through. I still remember the devastated…no, devastated isn't the word. Destroyed. I still remember the look on his face- he looked like I had just destroyed him. I thought about going to him, taking the ultimatum back, but I was too hurt and too stubborn to admit that I was wrong so I didn't. _This_ I will forever _hate_ myself for. He was the only person I have ever loved, likely the only person I will _ever_ love, and I broke him. I knew he was fragile, that he was falling apart, and all I could care about in that pivotal instant was myself. This guilt I will carry to my dying day.

If I could say just one thing to him, be given the chance to tell him one last thing, it would be that I'm sorry. I'm sorry I hurt him, and deeply, for six years in any way I could. I was vicious and cruel and delighted in tormenting him, and for that I am sorry. I would apologize for how I treated, and still treat, his two best friends. I may have quit being such a bastard towards them, but I in no way "played nice", and I know that hurt him; so I'm sorry for that. I'm sorry for not doing what was best for him and getting him to see a counselor about the war and what it did to him. I'm sorry for forcing him into a position he couldn't handle, knowing that I would hurt him by doing it and doing it anyway. And I am sorry to a degree that words cannot express that I broke him. That I, who should have been his support through times of trouble, was the final thing that he couldn't take.

I'm sorry I'm the reason he took his life.

__

_If I could rewind, watch all my life  
Just pass me by, I could see You_

_If I could rewind, I'd take back the lies  
And all of those times I hurt You_

_I wanna take back all those lies  
I wanna take back all those times  
I wanna show You with my life that I'm here for You_

Ah, Harry. The boy I came to love as a grandson, and now he's gone. I know I am not the one who held the knife, made the decision to die, but I know I contributed to his reasons. From his first day at Hogwarts I began to shape him into the person the wizarding world needed him to be to free us of Voldemort. As the Headmaster of his school, mentor of his parents, and the one he credited with giving him a reprieve from the Dursleys- even if I did have to send him back, though I did not want to, long enough to keep the blood protections active- I held a position of influence over him that I shamelessly took advantage of. I hated it then and I hate it now, but I had a war to prepare for and then run and I couldn't afford to put one boy's needs above the rest of the wizarding world as well as the muggle world, regardless how much I wanted to.

I wouldn't change what I did to him- I had no choice- but I would change how I handled him after the war. I know the kind of person he is- was. I knew how hard the war was going to be on him and I knew he was going to need a lot of help to see him through the aftermath. But he seemed to be doing truly well, much better than I expected, once everything was said and done. And I believed it, for a number of reasons. I knew he was close to Ron and Hermione, and that they would do their best to see him through a time that had the potential to destroy him, even though his i-was the strongest person I have ever met. I hadn't realized that they were fooled by his mask as well. I also knew he had help coming from a different corner and in a different way. Though they did not know it, I knew of Harry and Mr. Malfoy's relationship since the second year after their graduation, though I do not know when it started.

The war had been going on since nearly the day they graduated and I knew how hard everything was on Harry, so I left them to it, just grateful that Harry had someone he could turn to in times of need; someone who could give him the comfort only a lover can provide. I see him now, in the back of the room, trying to be inconspicuous, but I know Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger have seen him and both are wondering what he is doing here. His face is cold, almost bored, but if you know how to read him, and after working with Lucius in his role of spy since Draco's seventh year I feel I am fairly well equipped to do so, you can see the crippling pain in his eyes, the stiff way he holds himself, as though one wrong move will shatter him beyond any ability to repair. You can also see a soul deep, self-destructive guilt. It makes me wonder if something happened between them the night Harry chose to die. No matter if something did or did not happen, I can tell he blames himself for Harry's death. Time, Lucius, and Severus are the only things that will be able to heal, even a little bit, this guilt. Though I know it will be neither easy nor swift, I hope for his sake that he can one day put things into perspective and realize that, though it sounds callous to say it, the only one to blame for Harry's death is Harry himself.

Yes he had his reasons, but he had a number of options other than death available to him. I just wish that my grandson in heart had stopped to consider them before finding his answer in the blade of a knife.

____

_If I could rewind, watch all my life  
Just pass me by, I could see You_

_If I could rewind, I'd take back the lies  
And all of those times I hurt You_

Potter's memorial service is over and Draco is back at the Manor. Though he has his own flat, no doubt shared with that blasted boy, I insisted he come home during the aftermath of his love's- how I shudder at that thought- death. Though he knew it was against Potter's wishes, Draco told me of his relationship with the boy so as to prevent me from arranging a marriage for him.

Needless to say, I was not pleased. Not that I have anything against my son being homosexual, I do not, I just hated seeing him tie himself to someone with a high chance of dying within the very near future. He is my son, and I care about what is in his best interests. Not to mention that I have always hated, and will always hate, Harry Potter; a hate that has increased ten-fold since he selfishly chose to die and shatter my son.

Yet, even as I loathe the boy, I still feel pain at his death. He has hurt Draco very deeply, and what hurts my son hurts me. I have always loved him- his safety is the reason I decided to turn traitor and enter into Dumbledore's service as a spy- and seeing him in such pain, knowing I am helpless to do anything about it, hurts me more than words can tell. Though I know recovery will be a long time in coming- if it ever does- I am determined to see it through to the end.

I love my son and I will do whatever I have to to see him through this, but how I wish that damn boy had stopped to think of someone other than himself.

____

_If I could rewind, watch all my life  
Just pass me by, I could see You_

_If I could rewind, I'd take back the lies  
And all of those times I hurt You_

The door behind Draco shuts quietly, which is almost worse than if he slammed it. You know Draco well by now. If he had slammed it, it would mean that he was planning on coming back and working things out. But he shut it quietly, which means he has no intention of coming back. You have lost him, and with that you have lost the only thing that was keeping you afloat. The only thing left in your blackened world that was keeping you from drowning.

Oh, you know you have Ron, Hermione, Sirius, Remus, even Professor Dumbledore, but it's just not the same. They're all fooled by the mask you wear to hide what the war, what life, has done to you. But Draco sees through it, and gets decidedly pissy when you try to wear it around him. He wants to be here for you, to see you through your pain.

At least, he did. Now he's gone and you feel the world closing in around you. Memories of battles flash by in your mind's eye; you can see the images with the clarity of when they happened. You can feel them clamoring for your attention, blocking everything else out to drown you in memories that have the power to destroy you. And it's not just the memories that are destroying you, it's the guilt. How many people died, how many lives were lost, because you were too young, too weak, too inexperienced…too inadequate, to kill Voldemort and bring his reign of terror to an end? Draco says that it's not your fault, that you did the best you could and better than anyone else could have, but you know the truth. It's all your fault. Everything is your fault.

Looks like Vernon was right all along. You are a freak. You are worthless. You are an abomination that should have died on Voldemort's first try. If it weren't for you, Cedric wouldn't be dead. If it weren't for you, the Philosopher's Stone would have been safe in the mirror, not terrifyingly close to falling into Voldemort's hands. If it weren't for you, for your blood, Voldemort wouldn't have been able to come back to power and Dumbledore would have easily been able to kill him when he was so weak; he would have found a way, regardless of what the prophecy said. If it weren't for you, there never would have been a war and all those people wouldn't have died. Yes Draco tells you none of it is your fault, but you don't really believe him. Can't believe him. You are worse than useless and you deserve to die.

The longer you sit there on the floor, arms wrapped around yourself in a futile attempt to hold yourself together, the more you realize that you deserve to die. It's the only thing you can do that is an adequate restitution for the deaths you are responsible for, the lives you have destroyed. You aren't really scared of dying. It would be a relief, by this point. A chance to rest, to finally find peace from the storm that your life has become. But you still waver. You know it will hurt Draco. Things may be over between you two, but he does still care. But you would also be setting him free. You know you are a burden to him. You take so much, never giving anything back, you are a weight that is dragging him down. He'll be better off without you; he can find someone that actually deserves him.

Mind made up, you go to the kitchen and grab one of the butcher knives. Your hands are trembling, and you almost feel like you're going to be sick, but you are slightly excited, too. This is it. You will be free of the pain, free of the guilt, free of the despair.

A thought occurs to you. Draco may not be coming back, but that doesn't mean someone else won't show up. Ron and Hermione have a tendency to show up unannounced, and you don't want to chance them finding you in time to save you. You pull out your wand and ward the door with the strongest spells you know. They will eventually be able to get through them, but you know it will take too long. Not wanting to leave too much of a mess for everyone to clean up- the least you can do is make things as easy on them as possible, they're already going to have to deal with your body- you go into the bathroom and sit down in the bathtub. Your blood will run down the drain instead of spilling everywhere, leaving whoever finds you to clean up the mess.

Settling yourself as comfortably as you can, you take a deep breath and put the knife up against your wrist. You nearly drop it, your hands are shaking so bad. But you tighten your grip, take another deep breath, and drag the knife downward. You are surprised to feel no pain even though the blood begins to flow almost immediately. Quickly, before you lose your nerve, you do the other wrist. It's not long before you start to feel woozy and a little tired. Thinking becomes hard, but that's okay because the demons chasing you are finally silenced. With one last thought, you slip into darkness.

_I'm sorry Draco. I love you. Goodbye_

_If I could rewind, watch all my life  
Just pass me by, I could see You_

_If I could rewind, I'd take back the lies  
And all of those times I hurt You_

This fic is dedicated in love to all those who have gone before their time. I'm sorry you didn't get the help you needed to see you through your pain. May you rest in peace.

This fic is also dedicated to all those who are considering answering death's siren song. If you are in that darkest of times, and you think no one will miss you, that the world will be a better place without you, or you just want to finally rest, there is something else you should know. My stepmother died in October of 1996 and most of the reactions in this fic are based off of the reactions of the people affected by her death. The ones that aren't based on her suicide are based off of my mother's reaction when she found out I was suicidal or my reaction to finding out I had accidentally interrupted multiple suicide attempts of someone I am extremely close to. The following is a list of whose reaction belonged to who.

Ron is my reaction to finding out someone I call beloved had attempted suicide on many occasions, but I seem to have really good timing. I was mostly confused. We were close, I knew most of the crap they had been through, why couldn't they talk to me? Did I do something that made them feel I wouldn't listen? That I wouldn't help? So that's where Ron came from.

Neville is my initial reaction to my stepmother's death. She was a nice lady, and I liked her well enough, but my only attachment to her was my gratitude that she had helped my father get through losing his daughters when my parents divorced. Yes, I personally was hurt by her death, badly, but I was more hurt by what her suicide did to others, and I was determined to be strong for them- which eventually lead to me being suicidal. And that's Neville

Draco is entirely my father's reaction. It's been twelve years and, though he's much, much better, he's still not over Vicky's suicide. She damn near destroyed him, and I firmly believe he went slightly insane for the first few months after her death- especially considering what he did to my stepbrother. I know he also feels guilty about it. He feels that her death was a direct result of his actions and, though he has accepted that she is the one who pulled the trigger, he will always blame him self, at least in part (or should I say majority).

Dumbledore is how I feel about Vicky's suicide today. I mourn her passing, it still hurts, but I know what part I played in things. It was her choice to die, her finger that pulled the trigger, and I am in no way to blame for what she did (though, at first, my father tried to say my sister and I both gave cause). The only part that isn't my reaction is his guilt for being the cause of some of the reasons Harry suicided. His observations of Draco are entirely my observations of my father.

Lucius is my mother. She hated my stepmother with a passion, a hatred that exists to this day. She has told me on more than one occasion that she is glad Vicky died. But she still feels pain and regret for her passing. Her daughters were hurt, and so she was hurt. That's where I got Lucius from.

So please, if you're considering giving up, especially if you think no one will be affected by your death, consider these reactions before you take that final step. It won't matter if they are close to you, merely acquaintances, or hate your guts, they WILL be hurt by your death. There's one last consideration. I've mentioned that I was suicidal at one point. I didn't because I refused to do that to my family, but that doesn't mean I didn't seek out situations that could easily get me killed; that doesn't mean I didn't desperately want it. But I got lucky and was able to hang on long enough to get to a point where my life got better. So, if you are considering death as an option please listen to what I am about to say.

If you stick it out long enough, it _will_ get better. I was actively, suicidally depressed for eight years; it's only been in the last four that my life's changed, and I wouldn't give my life now up for anything- I love being who I am. But it took four years of constant work, much of which was painful, to get to where I am today. It also took some major changes. I had to get away from my mother and her family and move in with my dad before I could begin to heal. So yes, it will get better, but you have to want it, work for it, and be willing to make the changes necessary to achieve it. But it _can_ happen. However, you will also need help. It may take a few tries, but find a counselor that knows how to help see you through your storm. I absolutely hated counselors for a long time, but when I moved up here I finally found one that was worthwhile, and that was pivotal. So please, if you want to know what it is to be happy, GET HELP. It may take a few tries to find a good fit, but it's vital if you want to heal.

This fic is my plea to everyone considering death. Hang on, get help, and do what it takes to beat this. You can do it, and- whether you believe it or not- you _deserve_ it. So take that first step towards healing; eventually you'll be glad you did.


End file.
